Rain, rain, go away: Battousai is back again
by an-earl
Summary: 'For one man, years on,alone, the ghosts of the revolution came calling.His gi, soaked in their blood;his face, wet with their tears. The Killer returns to Kyoto, welcomed.' Four years have passed,and Kenshin can't bear to visit Tomoe's grave. Instead, another from his past stumbles across him. Hiko finds out about Tomoe.
1. Grand welcome

Disclaimer: This work has no affiliation with Nobuhiro Watsuki and the Rurouni Kenshin franchise. Please enjoy the fanwork!

The glorious Beta for this story is Sueb262- Please go check out her stories too!

* * *

 **Rain, rain, go away; Battousai is back again.**

He walked amidst a mourning. It was as if the heavens were broken; and the sun had been struck from the skies, the stars knocked from their pedestals. And now the souls of the damned had overturned heaven, rolling restlessly, unfurling greedily over one another, blending murkily into one mass grave upon the sky.

In the distance, their voices resonated, the hundreds of them in a strange unison: deep, booming, and grieving. Their last will and testimony thundered over the grey city. Kyoto was gripped by their orchestra, enthralled by a bombastic symphony.

For one man, years on, alone, the ghosts of the revolution came calling, calling. His gi, soaked in their blood; his ears, ringing with their screams; his face, wet with their tears.

The Killer returns to Kyoto, welcomed.

* * *

 _What a fine day to come down from the mountain._ Nothing made a sake-run more motivating than the soul-crushing regret of not bringing a simple umbrella. It didn't matter that today was not a particularly fond day for umbrellas. The man needed something to sulk about. Hiko Seijuro lumbered over the terrain, his hulking figure squelching inches-deep into mud. The rain made him heavier. And crankier. The grace of a master quelled in the muffled haze, he plod on; black hair slicked to his face, and throat itching for a swig of sake. He tugged his cloak closer as a chill began to set.

It hadn't rained like this for a long, long time. Maybe years. Who knows?

The burly man shook his shoulders, trying to shake off some of the excess water that had gathered at the ridges of his coat. And it didn't help knowing that his not-so-local sake-dealer might not even be in business today. If that were the case, he half-hoped for a band of bandits to ambush him on the return trip. There was nothing more stress-relieving than a bout of angry murder.

He sighed grimly. _Kami-sama, Seijuro. You know that's bad for your blood pressure._ Another sigh blew out from his nose. Recoiling back into a, somewhat, civilised manner, the spastic thought sounded alien. In a single moment, he was relieved. _Just how long have I lived in this Meiji Era?_

He trudged on, his trenches marring the path behind him. As his thoughts fell silent, the rain cried louder, blinding the master to his senses. The rain was unrelenting, and soon, scouring ahead was like trying to remember a distant memory. Fog had set in. Hiko Seijuro tensed at the strange city, instincts aroused at how changed the tiled rooftops looked, the soaked wood piles and ripping lanterns. He went on through the cold city, no sane soul outside in the downpour. As he went further, the streets became sprawling, and sunken. But the city felt younger. And familiar. With one more foot forward, Hiko Seijuro had stepped into another Kyoto. The Kyoto of the revolution.

And suddenly, the six metres ahead fell into focus, and a shiver ran down his frame. Before him, a figure stirred. Slumped against a wall, was a bundle of navy blue curled over the hilt of a katana, completely soaked. Hiko wouldn't have thought it human, except for the knot of red hair. _Red hair?_ He faltered mid-step, breath frosting before him. Recognition set in his eyes. And something within him swayed with a pain.

 _"Kenshin?"_

The figure stiffened, strenuously propping his head in his direction.

 _"..Shi…shou…?"_

* * *

The rain bore down on him, ruthless, each droplet pecking him apart, chiselling away at his soul. It weighed him down, exhausting him; and he could hardly lift a finger, open his eyes. It pelted his skin with cold until he was half-numbed, and even then it wouldn't stop. Unyielding. Unforgiving. The ones he had slain were strewn, headless on the battlefield in his mind. For each corpse stabbed dead, a generation were left angry. He imagined their tears falling on his back and counting his sins. _So many._ The cuts on his face were bleeding now; and two trails of red ran down his cheek, merged into the tears of the wronged.

 _"Kenshin?"_

For one lost soul, his first salvation stood by in the storm, staring, mouth parted, at the disgrace at his feet. He could hardly believe his eyes, and for a moment, he was staring at nothing as his vision blurred out of focus, rain filling up his eyes. But, his heart sunk further. There was no mistaking that colossus ki.

 _"…Shi…shou…?"_

They stood there, both struck with a daze, halfway between one extreme to the next. The runaway hitokiri was hapless, hopeless; and he subsided, lowering his eyes to the man's feet, bowing his head forward. Expecting him to pass, inconvenienced—like leaving behind a worthless beggar.

* * *

In that fleeting moment of clarity, all that he had lost in his life culminated in a single surge of surprise. The feeling of sadness as he turned his back on a little, frightened boy, blood speckled on his face; and the wonder he felt as he saw his field of graves. The pride that swelled when he picked up his sword for the first time; amusement from watching him stuff his face with food. Chuckling at his ugly, wayward handwriting, scowling at his pouty expression. Hearing his laugh as he finished a story of his younger days, waiting for the kid to quiet down before going on.

The feeling of tears leaking from unblinking eyes, as he simply _stopped—_ three days after he left. Remembering how terrible crying felt, wishing he couldn't feel a thing. Not knowing how to sleep well since, alone in his too-silent hut. And the red-headed disaster, the source of his aneurysms, didn't dare look his master in the eyes. His bones were ingrained with the horrors of war, like Hiko's once were. And he could only blurt out, simply,

"Scoot over. Baka."

* * *

I've planned for 4 chapters.

Thanks.


	2. The most formidable adversary

All my thanks to the amazing Beta: Sueb262, do check out her stories as well!

* * *

 **The Most Formidable Adversary**

Kenshin winced up at him. He hesitated a moment, gathering the energy to drag himself over a few inches. His movements were heavy. Tired. Hiko plopped his back on the wall, and slid down to join him. They sat in silence for a while, listening to the rain patter, an awkward gap between the rurouni's head and the swordsman's shoulders. Hiko looked straight ahead, too afraid to see the extent to which the war had hurt him. _But it ended four years ago._ His keen senses were dulled in the thicket of fog, but he was so _close_ to Kenshin—he could practically smell the blood leaking from his cheek. And he couldn't bear to feel his ki again.

It felt so… _stripped bare._

There was nothing to it but a grieving. And a loathing.

 _What the hell did they do to you, boy?_

* * *

Kenshin didn't move, afraid to think too loud, afraid to breathe too hard.

Years had gone passed, and Hiko Seijuro didn't look a moment older than the day the bright-eyed boy left home. Hiko was still that righteous, menacing master that imparted him divinity—Hiten Mitsurugi ryu. But him? Kenshin scoffed to himself. The blood on his cheek streaked down, staining his gi. Nothing made him different to the bandits' Hiko murdered. Kenshin stared on at nothing, not a change in his aura. The image of those men resurfaced, the ones he buried alone in the night. But now, there was no 'them' and no 'he.' Hiko Seijuro had ripped them apart: was he after Hitokiri Battousai's life, too? He wasn't the first. Second. Or _third._

Hundreds of men would celebrate his death. It hardly seemed like good manners, breathing.

 _Fine. He gifted me life, now he can take it—he'd be doing the world a favour._

* * *

The rain didn't let up, but Kenshin did. "You were right. You…are right."

"I know, Kenshin. But you're going to have to be more precise."

Kenshin breathed out forcefully, the hint of a smile on his lips. _Ever the narcissist, shishou._

"About everything, back then. I thought I was ready. I thought it was right to murder under orders. My commander was much like you, after all—I was loyal to him. You guided me. He guided me. " The runaway hitokiri knit his fingers together, making a tremor run through his hands.

"I guess I just didn't understand the difference between a spiritual guide and a political one. Shi—" He gulped, questioning whether he still had the right to call him that. Master. He'd told Kenshin to forget him at their parting, forbid him to mention his name.

"Baka-deshi?"

"…Shi..shou. Everything you warned me about came true.

 _"I am Hitokiri Battousai."_

Kenshin braced for his reaction. He would not pull away if the master of Hiten Mitsurugi struck him right then and there.

"I know."

"You—you know?! You know and? Why haven't you killed me yet?"

"You didn't think I'd really let my baka-deshi run free with that bunch? I kept tabs on you all throughout the Bakumatsu. You were Hitokiri Battousai. All right."

Kenshin shifted restlessly.

"Look, I've never agreed with your 14-year-old delusions, Kenshin, but—what do you think made me oppose them so much? You literally saw me cut down 10 men the day you met me. What did you think I was like in my rebellious phase?"

He grunted. "You're still so naive, you don't know you're naive. If you want to boast a body count, then nothing's changed since you fell in the dust after our spars."

Kenshin looked to some drowning weeds a little way away. He wasn't seeing them. But Hiko could see the cogs in his head turning. _Good_. Maybe he could talk him out of whatever stupor he's in. _The baka is going to live through tonight, tomorrow, and down the rest of this petty era he made._

"What I don't understand is—why are you so delirious? It's been four years since the war ended. Don't tell me you've been sulking here for four years straight?"

Kenshin lingered there a little, weary. His eyes traced slowly from the floor to his shishou, and for the first time, he truly, honestly, looked at him.

"It's this place, Shishou….it's this city." The rain in his eyes welled out like tears.

"There are too many things here that I wish I could forget….Too many things here that bring back memories—and I can remember them as if they happened yesterday…There's just…too many… _too many_."

He strained his eyes shut, the 'too many' things of the city caving in around him. Kenshin lurched forward, retching into the sleeves of his gi. And he held himself there, overwhelmed. Hiko had instinctively reached a hand over to rest on his back: something he did when the 9 year-old boy woke up panting from a nightmare. It was easier before.

* * *

 _"_ _Sshhh, shh, it's alright, Kenshin, it's ok. Nothing but a dream. You're here, you're with me. Kiddo, I'll stab anything that tries to hurt you. Now calm, calm yourself. C'mon, boy, you'll be alright."_

* * *

But he didn't touch him. He froze, mid-reflex, not sure what to do, whether he was supposed to do that. Kenshin wept silently into his gi. Nothing was like back then. The nightmare that tormented him couldn't be woken up from, the 'too many' things that were hurting him now—Hiko couldn't stab. Hiko pulled back his arm and stared straight ahead again, hearing Kenshin weep under the cover of the rain. He did nothing, pretending not to notice.

Kenshin lifted a finger, pointing vacantly away to the open road. "….There. Right there. I murdered five men there. It was an assassination job. Heh. Hehe, heh. When I close my eyes, I can still see their _names_ and _faces._ There was this one man, a young one….he could hardly hold his sword. _Kiyosato Akira."_

Killing didn't faze Hiko. _Kenwa kioki. Kenjutsu was the art of killing._ But there was such a weight behind Kenshin's words, a great melancholy, that Hiko followed his deshi's arm drift back to touch his bloody cheek with a reverence.

"He gave me this scar."

"…Then he was skilled. That young samurai was strong. He did well."

"No." Kenshin was almost breathless. "Just—convicted. Such a will." His hand pressed into his cheek. "Both of them."

"Oh?"

Hiko berated himself inwardly. He shouldn't be impressed by the second man who managed to scar his prodigy.

"Who is this other formidable adversary?"

"His fiancé."

Shock flashed through Hiko's eyes, and he mulled over the words. If it weren't so serious, Hiko could have laughed out loud. _Oh, the irony. Kenshin, your life is dramatic enough to be a kabuki play._ But no matter the odds, there was nothing Hiko could do to brace himself for the pieces falling into place.

"Yukishiro Tomoe. She became my wife. And I killed her."

Hiko Seijuro drew a breath. His insides heaved. A sickly realisation dawned from his chest, and a memory came sweeping back to the forefront of his mind. Hiko was wading through a field of graves, stopping before a shrine of three crosses. His eyes fell on a lavender scarf, and he remembered the faint, sweet smell of white plum.

' _This belonged to a lady. She was important to you, Kenshin. But now she's just another death to pay tribute to. '_

Hiko exhaled, facing Kenshin.

"Tell me about Yukishiro Tomoe. That scarf on the cross—lavender-coloured— it belonged to her, didn't it?"

Kenshin looked up in surprise. There was still the faint trace of blisters on his hands from putting up crosses.

"She was the most formidable adversary I've ever met."

* * *

Glossary

(For NytAhwuhl, and everyone)

Gi- article of clothing, the shirt Kenshin is wearing

Ki- 'aura' or 'energy,' has a supernatural element to it

Shishou- master/ teacher

Baka deshi- idiot apprentice

Hitokiri Battousai- assassin who has mastered all forms of Battou-jutsu sword moves

Bakumatsu- era of war that ended feudalism

narcissist- someone who is very vain/ self-absorbed

* * *

 **Notes:**

Hey readers! Erm, I may need to elaborate on this last part. You see, I this all stemmed from a short piece I wrote in Chapter 7 of a one-shot series, called 'Kyoto No More' and the flashback thingy was a link to that. The ' _This belonged to a lady'_ line was directly out of that. Thus, 'the pieces falling into place.'

Though this story stands alone fine- it's directly from Trust and Betrayal- where it is revealed that Kenshin put up all those crosses, and left behind Tomoe's scarf on the graves of the three women. We see this through Hiko's point of view at the very end.

Also, I wrote this story to explain why Hiko knew of Tomoe in the first place. In the manga and anime, it clearly shows that Hiko knew of Tomoe and her final resting place. He visits it with Kenshin at the end of the Kyoto arc. So, between the end of the bakumatsu and the events of the kyoto arc, it's totally implied Hiko had a heart-to-heart with kenshin for him to know about Tomoe.

Yeah!

Thanks ever so much for reading, I'd love loVE a review - let me know what you think!


	3. Pathetic like you

Again, I give my eternal thanks to Sueb262 for her fab beta job. Try out her stories too!

* * *

 **Important!** Please beware suicidal themes and swear words in this one ._.

* * *

 **Pathetic Like You**

The rain droned on, draping Kyoto under one grey veneer of mist; and it veiled Hiko, as it had always veiled Kenshin, until he too, was back amid the great turmoil. But he left Kyoto behind.

Summer and Autumn had passed him by, and he imagined his baka-deshi hand in hand with the girl that owned the lavender scarf. He left out no detail. The rasp of her voice. The swish of her hair. The curl of her handwriting. She wore the smell of white plum, and _Oh God, the boy can't even bear to smell it now._ Even the way she looked death in eye was so obviously described by someone who was so deeply, blatantly, damn-near _hopelessly_ , in love. Hiko was saddened. He wished he could have met her once, glimpsed her, even. Every time he ambled down his hill to barter for sake—all the people he had passed— _which one was her?_ He wondered.

There was a rush in his baka-deshi's voice, a hint of that little boy he took into the mountain. He watched him blush stupidly though the rain: the lacklustre expression, the fatigue that had repressed him before gone. His eyes brightened, his voice enlivened. He'd come alive to do justice for her mere memory. And as the story drew to its end, the snows of Otsu gleamed in his mind. Hiko was staring now, blatantly, taking in everything miserable that created that cross-shaped scar. _Kiyosato Akira. And Yukishiro Tomoe._ Their names engraved in Hiko's mind. And on that cheek.

Kenshin was quiet again, breathless like the last time he killed a man. All these years and he'd never even breathed a word about his first love to a soul. Save the sentence he owed Katsura. The only time he ever said her name, was when he thrashed in his sleep. "Tomoe changed everything. I loved her…I _loved_ her. And I killed her. "

Hiko sighed, looking up at the rain before speaking."She was brave. A warrior in her own right. She is a name I will always remember. " He inhaled the cold. "So why are you sulking here? Sullying her sacrifice?"

Kenshin stared up at him, wide-eyed. "I sullied her the moment I split a man's spine before her. There was blood on her face. That I spilled. Ehe… I thought I could come back here now. I wanted to—I only came back to this place to see her. She's buried here….But it's this _city,_ Shishou…It's her and everyone, _everything_ …Battousai is welcomed here, but I _don't want to be Battousai. "_

He grimaced, smiling wryly. "Perhaps I didn't come to see her this way. Kyoto. Perhaps I came here to _die._ I'm ready to, you know. I was ready four years ago."

"But you didn't. Because of her."

"Yes."

"Boy. You court death better than you court the lady."

Kenshin withered. "I've courted hundreds of deaths, Shishou. But only one lady."

* * *

Hiko's chest heaved with his words.

 _What the hell?_ What in the name of this goddamned era he created made the boy so…deranged? There was a simple answer to that. But he refused to believe it.

"You think you deserve death, because you killed under orders?"

"So…many…"

"Fine. You can't quell a 14-year-old temper tantrum. That is your fault. Your burden to bear."

He watched Kenshin shrivel up a bit more, a solemn smile playing on his lips.

"But what about all the lives you saved?"

Kenshin's eyes remained vacant, but his smile disappeared. Finally, he shifted in Hiko's direction, not really confused, but questioning. The movement disturbed the water hanging in his bangs, and it streamed down his face.

"Alright. You've killed. So have _I_ , coincidentally. Even if you hadn't wagged your tail to those Ishin Shishi, you'd still have killed. That's what I taught you to do." _No pretty words can change that,_ Kenshin thought, wondering what his Shishou was about to say. But Hiko sat back, leaning casually against the wall. He flicked his fingers, gathering a handful of cloak to wring water from the cloth.

"My sake-seller has two daughters." He said airily. "Every time I come for alcohol, he hassles me to purchase one of his daughter's drawings. They're utterly terrible, and I have to tastefully decline. One day I'll have to _less than tastefully_ decline." He raised his brow in a kind of jeering. "They're only alive because of Toba Fushimi. Have you ever read any of the prayers hung on the tree at the temple? I brought you there once? Twice? When you were a runt. Many praise the Shishi and the Meiji for their fortunes. The man that sells me my writing ink—he rambles on about how his son came home after a good ol' one month of conscription. Forced into it. Joined too late, luckily for him."

"Shishou, what are you—"

"— _You ended the war._ Kenshin. You—ended—the Bakumatsu. Or in the very least, you cut a few _years_ off of it."

Kenshin was jolted upright, thrown off by the sudden edge in his Shishou's words. It struck him hard, without even Hiko having so much as to raise his voice. The air of delicacy from before had crashed to the floor with the rain—harshly replaced without a single warning. Hiko looked at him, looking past the ugly scar into his eyes, and even then, going further. Looking for something.

For a strange moment, Kenshin was almost scared of his master—and it was like he was back at the beginning: looking into the face of the man that had both saved him, and avenged him—all in a grand seventy two seconds. The master's ki was spilling from him in waves; and Kenshin realised just how reserved his shishou had been this entire time, how well he had suppressed his own feelings. In a single, unadulterated moment, he let go.

"From the time you were born, all you've ever known was war." His voice was sandpaper against stone. "And now you've ended it, so that that sake-seller's two daughters—the ink-maker's son, won't ever have to experience what you did. These snot-nosed brats these days—war can be a game to them. _A game_. Heh. Hehe. They'll never know how _ugly_ this world once was, and that's some achievement, isn't it? "

Hiko Seijuro paused for a moment, letting the words sink in. Staring at Kenshin as if somehow, his words would bore through that thick skull of his. _Wishful thinking or no?_

"Despite your stupidity, you've never done it for politics. Well, sure, you did. You were a fool for abandoning me. But you draped a banner over your sword for _people."_ Now Hiko scrunched up his nose, disdain rolling off his tongue, "Not for the damned government, not for your damned commander. That's what you left my mountain to do. Isn't it? "

Hiko arched his neck, the drenched pony-tail weighing down the flaunty-collar. Mist furled from his lips. They crinkled as he spoke again, but this time, his voice was low, barely above the patter of the rain. "Just out of this god-forsaken city…how many thousands owe their lives to you? In this country, how many millions of lives have you changed?

"—So many."

A genuine smile streaked across Hiko's face. "I say you are a baka, Kenshin, because you are one. You're a baka because you're so engrossed in your past deeds, you can't even see the beauty you've bought back into this world. No, the Shishi is far from perfect, the Meiji has its flaws—but you damn-well dragged it out of the Bakumatsu, at least."

All of a sudden, he rolled back his eyes, an animated annoyance seeping into his voice. "I probably have you to thank to be saying this: I haven't needed to kill for years. I doubt your petty assassinations could even add up to half of mine, and yet you changed the era."

Kenshin clenched his jaw, doing what he could to avoid biting into his cheek. A frenzy of thoughts were milling around his head now, overwhelming and undermining him from all corners. Each one scrambled to make sense of things that couldn't be made sense of: incredible things like Hiko Seijuro giving pep-talks to beggars on the side of the street. Hiko Seijuro admitting his own limitations. Hiko Seijuro being his Shishou again. Kenshin wanted to believe it; but he had been wrong too many times. And people had died for his wrongs. The doubts in his mind were louder, and they writhed forward, shrill. His new hope was stomped out. In the end, a demon could not walk amongst men. Kenshin dropped his eyes again, hiding behind the red of his bangs.

"…Perhaps. But all I can do is kill. Yes, I've changed the era. But did…did I…really save all those people? How could I, when…when I don't.." His voice broke. "I don't even know the _feeling_. Only death. I only remember how to _kill."_

"Bullshit. What are you feeling now? Because that's how it is. Listen to me, baka—baka-deshi. When I was in my younger years, I killed so many evil men without counting—I lost hope in humanity. You know this, don't you? Why is it that you think I hole myself up in that wooden shack like a hermit? For the _view_? Peh. Heh, heheheheh. I killed without blinking so much that nothing mattered to me anymore. Death meant nothing to me. And I was like you for the longest time. Drifting around. Lost."

This time, Hiko buckled a bit, his shoulders falling forward slightly. He turned away.

"I was ready to die."

"…"

"I never meant to pass down the Hiten Misurugi ryu, Kenshin. A brutal style like this—I was going to die, and have it die with me. I grew so, _so,_ tired. And it was all enough for me one day. I would drink myself silly, like I always did, heheh. And then, _and then,"_

He drew a breath, realising what exactly he was about to say to his deshi. "—and then, I would end myself. You know, leave this pathetic earth to tear itself apart."

Hiko cocked his head, a familiar smirk mocking Kenshin in a usual, matter-of-fact lampoon. But there was nothing, funny.

The night he found Shinta flashed through his mind again.

* * *

" _The moon peers down on a diseased world. There is no cure for the disease. An entire race vaults mindlessly into destruction. Not even a man with colossal power could prevent the inevitable."_

 _In the following day, the grave man would proceed to pluck a little boy from the roadside, preventing him from sticking winter moon in himself._

* * *

"You wish to punish yourself for the past—fair—go ahead! But know you are not living it—and no one _else_ is living in it, because some imbecile kid couldn't take his Shishou's advice and cared too much about the world!"

A silence fell between them, and the ground between the swordsmen that was gained was stolen again by the rain. They could be miles apart. But in their ki, they were the same person.

If a stranger had walked past in the downpour, if a person happened by, they'd have seen two figures sitting by in a storm: a kid and a giant too close to be strangers, yet too far to be friends. They'd keep their distance, jarred by their complacency in the rain—like they were so soaked, they were resigned to whatever hell the gods pleased. Come what may. They'd see a boy with confusion in his eyes, unspeakable things lost in his parted mouth. In his face, there was a dawning, like he'd just discovered the most incredulous thing, and beyond. Was he angered, or frightened by whatever he had just found? No one could tell, but they all flickered through his face as the realisation bore deeper, and disbelief became belief.

If a passerby happened, they'd have seen the burly man's maniacal grin twist under his locks of wet hair. And they'd hurry to pass him, trying to not stare, but all the while baffled by his _ridiculous_ smirk in a time like this. Hilarity. He wasn't happy, even a stranger could tell—rather, he was at some kind of a loss. There was a stillness that had befallen the two: as if the world had a fragility to it that could be broken by so little as a wrong breath of air.

But no one passed by. The pair were still alone.

* * *

Hiko Seijuro spoke again.

"I would be the last life that the Hiten Mitsurugi ryu would ever claim. Perfect, right? Number thirteen. It's a quaint number."

He nodded his head to the right, not turning to face him but addressing him through the corner of his eye. This time, his mismatched smirk faltered, and a real smile graced his face.

"But then, I met you."

"…"

"I met a _stupid,_ little boy, who _stupidly_ buried his enemies." _And I've never felt so proud. "_ My life was ready to end after a last bout of killing and a good jug of sake. For the next ten years, I lived for you, Kenshin."

Hiko shook his head, amused.

"So how does it feel to have saved so many lives? I know you have, and I know you can, because you've been saving my life since the day I first met you."

* * *

Glossary

Katsura- Kenshin's commander and leader of the Choshu Ishin Shishi (revolutionaries)

Otsu- rural place where Kenshin lived with Tomoe

baka/ baka-deshi- idiot/ idiot apprentice

* * *

Hiko Seijuro saved Kenshin in seventy two seconds. Ten-ish years on, Kenshin is still returning the favour. Whether he knows it or not.


	4. Petrichor

May I kindly remind you that this chapter was beta'd by the ever-fabulous, right honourable: **Sueb262.**

 **Petrichor:** The smell of rain, or after-rain. The scent is unmistakable, and it is most pronounced after a rain that comes at the end of a long dry spell. Many people appreciate those fresh, earthy and powerful post-rain smells. The word has Greek roots for stone and the blood of gods.

* * *

 **Petrichor**

The fog that had blanketed them before had slowly fallen away, peeling back to reveal the city in blurry layers until the large expanse of rain became crisp to the eye. The rain showered the city, each droplet a needle piercing the ground. It hit the floor, splitting the puddles to produce a rebound, and it sprang back up to spit into the air. A million ripples like this made the ground seem crawling. But the roar of the rain was simmering lower, the splash-back of the water didn't fly as high. Even the air didn't seem as cold.

And the numbness in his fingers was subsiding.

 _I…saved Shishou?_

Himura Kenshin sat awed into silence: the rurouni lost for words, and Battousai lost for breath. Shinta searched his master's face, not sure what to do or what to say. Whether he was supposed to do something. All he had ever known was that hulking man's strength, and now—

"What? You gonna space out again? Rude, Kenshin." Hiko rolled his eyes.

"Shishou…I don't really understand. I was just…a child."

"You might as well still be one, boy." He scoffed into the rain. "And I hate repeating myself, have you learned nothing from my training? I. Am. Right. So, take my word for it."

Kenshin didn't move. Hiko's sterness faltered.

"Baka-deshi…what did I tell you that night, what did I teach you? Let your survival become your saviours' memorial." _Until it doesn't have to be. One day, you won't have to live for dead. You will learn to live, for the living. For yourself._

"There's no expiration date on that." He said slowly.

"That is why you can't give up, you cannot be a coward now. Or you slander them. That day in Otsu, Lady Tomoe gave you another chance at living your life right—and you will not sully her. To all those that were slain by your hand—Kenshin, prove to them that their lives weren't spent in vain. "

"…"

Kenshin furrowed his brow, watching Hiko with an intensity in his eyes. But he was swallowing every word his shishou said, taking in its full meaning.

"You created this era, and you can choose to safeguard it. Never again will this world feel so miserable that I'd want to leave it."

Hiko rolled his hand into a fist. Slowly, he outstretched it, making sure Kenshin could see, and struck him square in the chest.

"Be strong, Kenshin. Be brave, like Tomoe." He rested his fist there, pressing into his skin: as if showing him the weight his next decision would hold. Hiko withdrew. He closed his eyes, doing nothing but listening to the rain fall. It was peaceful, for a while.

Something shifted around him, making water lap against his sandals, and Hiko opened his eyes. Kenshin had moved, and now he was detached from the muddy wall. He was staring with his neck arched against the skies, katana comfortably at his side in the middle of the street. He stood there, a stillness possessing his figure, and he looked to the grey clouds with a reckoning. Rain trailed down his face, washing away the blood from his scar. It bled no more.

"I repented." He croaked.

"I've being doing so all this time…I still am." He said, a little clearer. But now there was a conviction in his voice, the timid quiver gone. "Give me time. I've a lifetime to atone."

And with one, last exhale into the storm, his eyes trailed to the floor, his head dipping forward with them. In a short, deft movement, Kenshin gripped his katana in his left hand, tensing his entire body. A passing civilian might have witnessed the cascade of rain around him react with a tremor: the droplets almost suspending in the air before being jolted backward from the swordsman in the epicentre. It left a second-interval where the rain ceased to hit him, and when it did again, the man wouldn't be weighed down anymore.

To Hiko, Kenshin's ki was flaring throughout that little body: a newfound power circulating in his veins with a vigour that was almost harrowing to behold. If Hiko weren't Hiko, he would be marvelling at the presence before him. But, still, the master was captivated by his show of—whatever the baka was doing—promising, flaunting, or pledging. Hiko almost wanted to chuckle at the curious boy before him. It seemed somehow so hilarious, that someone who couldn't manage to reach his shoulder in height, could be capable of such a power. _What am I thinking? He's my baka, isn't he? Well, my genius shows in everything I try—the baka-deshi no less._ The haughty smirk curled back on his lips, and he felt the ki emanating from Kenshin pulse out, stopping the rain for a moment.

The boy turned to him, smiling gently.

"So? Baka?"

Kenshin ambled two paces forward, stopping before Hiko. He dropped to one knee, fists and katana splashing the water on either side of him. Kenshin lowered his red hair into the ground, bowing.

"Shishou. You're ri—iiiiiight…" He flinched lower, realising what kind of fuel he had just given Hiko.

"And?"

Kenshin made a face to the ground, swallowing his rather dry throat.

"Miss Sakura, Miss Akane, and Miss Kasumi. My late wife, Tomoe. Her late finance, Kiyosato Akira…All the people I've hurt…all the other's I've affected. I won't cheapen their sacrifices by ending myself."

He dipped lower a tad, bangs skimming the puddles before looking up.

"I know what I have to do now."

 _As long as I don't ever have the pleasure of burying you, do whatever the hell you want, boy._

"Elating. Now that it seems you've gotten over your idiocy, _look_ , you're free to do more. I'm not remotely interested in how you dole that out."

"Haah. Yes. Shishou."

They lingered there a couple of seconds, letting silence reign between them.

"So? Where is Lady Tomoe's resting place? Go and see her." _I will come with you._

Kenshin withdrew a little, sitting back on his heels.

"No, Shishou."

He seemed almost surprised at his own words, but once he got them out, he straightened up. His resolve hardened.

"I should never have come back here. I'm not ready to…but one day…"

He paused, collecting himself. "One day—I will return to see her."

Hiko regarded him for a long moment. Then he nodded, wordless.

"Shishou…I must leave now."

Hiko Seijuro scoffed. The burly man unfolded his crossed legs. With one great lunge, Hiko kicked the kneeling swordsman just as he picked himself up, sending him wheeling backwards into the mud. In an impulse, Kenshin planted his right hand down while his left flew to clasp his katana. He shifted his weight onto a knee and an ankle, bracing for a skid to a stop. But the street was narrow, and he slammed into the opposite building. The redhead crumpled onto the floor again. When Kenshin bobbed up, his expression was of one of annoyance. He was mashing his lips, as if he were tasting something particularly unpleasant. "Nghh—shiSHOU?" He spat a little.

Hiko raised a brow. "Well. Eat dirt. For real."

Kenshin glared at him. "Peh-heh, Baka-deshi, it's a miracle how you got that little reputation of yours—you're pathetic."

Kenshin sat back in the mud, resting his head on his shoulder. "Oro?"

 _What the? Didn't kick him too hard, did I?_

"Fine. It doesn't matter if you never never come back to this place. Now you've made your decision, get out."

Kenshin furrowed his brow. "You don't own this place. This is a public street."

"Look, the sooner you get lost, the sooner I can go back to my hermit life on _my_ mountain. And you can go back to…your angsting—or whatever it is kids do these days."

The twenty-two year old cringed into his smile. He rose, sliding his katana snugly into his obi, wringing a little water from his patchy gi.

"As you wish, Shishou."

Kenshin shrugged his shoulders, his heart a ton lighter, conscience a little clearer. And he fell forward once more, bowing his head.

"Shishou. Thank you. _Thank you for everything."_

"Hn."

"Farewell, Shishou."

His baka-deshi turned and left, leaving Hiko alone to watch his back, until he was less than a speck in distance.

.

.

 _"_ _Farewell, Kenshin."_

* * *

.

The skies rolled like the sea: the clouds whirling like waves, lapping at the horizon as the storm drew to its close.

The killer waded through the place of his heyday, sloshing through the half-flooded streets with an earnestness. Once, it was blood. But today, it was water. Those days were behind him. Each step carried him further from the upheaval, bringing him closer to the new era he'd always dreamed of. There was no more need to remain here, in the past.

So he forged on, stance against the current, savouring the peculiar feeling of what saving lives felt like. _Like saving him._ Amazing. Worth living a lifetime for.

He carried on, the rain moving as he moved; and bit by bit, little by little, the pitter patter simmered into a drizzle. Then a spitting. Then, it ended. Rippling puddles began to still with a finality.

The petrichor was sharp in his wake, but the smell was crisp, new. The haze of the sky mellowed out as well, and the clouds broke apart, promising heaven.

Battousai was gone.

Never to return.

* * *

 **Epilogue**

A haggard man burst open his door, his surly expression examining the water damage before him. "Kami—Just what I needed."

"Indeed."

"GUEH!" The man startled back, bumping into the doorframe. "What the hell—what are you doing here…so…early?"

"Sake." He grunted shortly.

"Ah. Righht, Hiko-san. Should'a known, only you'd run up here in a rainstorm for saaaake."

The master's hair was slicked to his face, his usually billowing coat too drenched to do so—and it flapped languidly as he turned to leave, jugs of sake snagged to his belt.

"Well, you're my star customer. You know the drill, I have to ask whether you'd like to buy one of those drawings?"

Hiko stopped, jerking back to squint.

"…Hn."

"Oh…well. Very..very much appreciated, Hiko-san."

 _Didn't the storm do wonders for you?_

Hiko produced another soggy note, and the sake-seller accepted it with a shrug.

"Take your pick, sir."

"Do you know the way to the city cemetery? Pray tell, give me directions."

The sake-seller pursed his lips, curious.

"Jus' down two, three streets that way—walk to the end until you see the stone shrine. Then take a right. Can't miss it."

"Gratitude."

Hiko shuffled in the direction he motioned to.

"And this ink-drawing—your daughter's not half bad…anymore."

"Ha! Well, things are finally changing, huh?"

"Took long enough, didn't he?"

 _He?_

* * *

The cemetery was sodden, a forlorn calmness enveloping it. But before one, small headstone upon a mound, there was a generous offering of sake. A child's drawing was laid before it, adorning the grave with a hint of colour. It brightened up the girl who changed everything.

.

End.

* * *

Notes

Obi- a broad sort of belt (it holds Kenshin's sword)

Katana- sword

Sake- alcohol

And that concludes the story! Thank you so much for reading, I had a great time writing this. It's a sweet ending, I think. It makes that part at the end of the (manga) Kyoto arc- where Kenshin and Hiko are visiting Tomoe- that much nicer. Years on, Kenshin does return to see Tomoe, and they complete this trip together.

Yeah, hope you enjoyed. I would love to hear your thoughts on anything.

Thanks guys.

-earl


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